


not all heroes wear capes

by anotherplaceintime (marvelleous)



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:02:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25008154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelleous/pseuds/anotherplaceintime
Summary: a modern au about the adventures of doctor claire fraser and her husband jamie, a firefighter for the scottish fire and rescue service.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 426
Kudos: 584





	1. the one where jamie is as high as a kite

**Author's Note:**

> chapters are not in chronological order - the date at the beginning will indicate when that particular chapter is taking place.

**September 2019**

Claire is on the tail end of a twelve hour shift, more than ready to head home and put her feet up, when she receives an emergency page from Joe. After back to back surgeries and several less than amiable patients, she’s entirely drained. But there’s always another life to save; another life to lose if she’s not fast enough, and so she quickens her pace, heading to find him in the hopes that he only needs her for a quick consult. 

She sees him standing by the nurses station when she rounds the corner, and the expression on his face has her skidding to a stop. 

It’s one she’s worn herself countless times; one she practised in the mirror throughout her entire residency, preparing for the day where she would be required to deliver news to a patient about a loved one. 

She tries not to overthink it, schools her own features as she closes the distance between them and allows her old friend to pull her to him, a comforting hand resting upon her back. Her body is trembling, shaking like a leaf, even as she takes slow and measured breaths, preparing herself for the worst. 

Joe pulls away from her then, standing at an arm’s length away, resting his hands upon her shoulders and regarding her with what she hopes to be assurance. 

“He’s fine, Lady Jane. Geillis saw to it herself.”

She thinks she could pass out from relief, if she allowed herself to do so. It’s not the first time she’s been here, and it certainly won’t be the last; but she swears it feels as though she loses twenty years of life each time it happens, every time she’s paged by a colleague and informed that her _husband_ has been brought in. 

_If only the fool would have more regard for his own bloody life._

Joe gives her the details, taking her by the arm and walking with her down the hallway. They stop just outside an open doorway, and she stands there, trying to process the information that he’s feeding her, but only retaining bits and pieces. There honestly isn’t that much more she needs to know at this moment, other than the affirmation that Jamie is very much alive and not maimed beyond repair.

“I imagine he’ll be waking up from the anaesthesia soon. I’m quite certain the first face he wants to see will be yours.”

He leaves her then, with a gentle squeeze to the arm and promises that he’ll be back to check on them later. She takes a shuddering breath and steps inside, her fears melting away when she sees Jamie lying there, looking a little worse for wear but most definitely alive and whole. The nurse monitoring his vitals takes one look at her, and then hands his chart over, scurrying from the room. 

Pulling a chair over from the side of the room, she sits for the first time in hours, and scans through all the details before setting the chart back in place at the end of the bed. She paces the room for a bit and then slumps right back down beside him, holding his hand and cursing at his unconscious body, wanting him to wake up already so he could feel her wrath.

It takes twenty minutes for his finger to twitch and another five before she sees his eyes moving beneath the lids. 

"Jamie, can you hear me? It's all right, I'm right here."

She holds his hand, lacing their fingers together as she leans forward, whispering words of comfort and reassurance to him. He groans and she chokes back a sob, pressing a kiss to the edge of his jaw, brushing her cheek against his before pulling back slightly. 

When his eyes open, it's not with a slow flutter of lashes, like the flapping of a butterfly's wings. It's sudden, as if he were suddenly jolted into consciousness, and she finds herself staring into an endless sea of blue.

An ocean, during a violent storm; clouded over and entirely unfocused.

She squeezes his hand, tries to convey to him that she's there for him, that she's by his side and that she'll never leave him. 

"How do you feel?"

He tries to give her his full attention, but she can see how difficult it is for him to focus. It's like he's not quite sure where he is, or who she is.

“Like a pile of moldy tripe…”

Of course, he's managed to retain his sense of humour even now. She smiles weakly, shaking her head at him, and he continues to stare, trying so very hard to hold her gaze but failing at each and every attempt.

“Are ye a doctor?”

There's a mild panic building within her, that something has gone wrong. She doesn't know what she would do, how she could cope if this played out like one of those romantic drama films Jamie loves so much. If this is a retrograde amnesia situation, she'll clock him over the head herself in an effort to restore his memory. 

She's pretty sure it won't come to that.

“Yes," she tells him, because she is a doctor after all, and there's no sense in panicking just yet.

He blinks madly, as if that little tidbit of information is the most fascinating news he's ever received.

“Are ye _my_ doctor?”

There's something in the way he says it, so obsessively, that reassures her his confusion is purely due to the anaesthetic given to keep him under. She read it in his chart earlier, that they had administered a different drug than he was usually given, but the exact details are lost to her now, with him being the one thing she can focus on.

“Something of the sort," she tells him, deliberately vague. Now that she's mostly certain that he hasn't sustained any permanent damage, she allows her anger to flare, just a little. "What were you thinking, going out and getting yourself hurt like this?”

“I dinna ken what the hospitals are like in England, but ye really should work on yer bedside manner, Sassenach.”

The sound of his pet name for her makes her heart do a little dance, thumping erratically for just a moment.

“I beg your pardon?” she asks with mock annoyance, enjoying the playful banter between them. 

“I dinna mean tae offend ye. 'Tis only the word fer an English person… Did ye ken yer eyes are like whisky?” 

“So I’ve been told.” 

_“I could get drunk just staring at yer eyes, mo nighean donn. They're like pools of the finest whisky,”_ he’d said, one night after they’d both had a drink or two. 

“Yer like a wee fairy. Yer hair, ‘tis like magic.”

He reaches for her then, or at the very least, makes a very good attempt of it. His hand almost smacks her in the face; she ducks just in time to avoid it, and sees the look of despair he gives her, probably thinking that she's shying away from his touch.

“Oh, Jamie.”

She moves then, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed and reaches for his hand, bringing it upwards to cup her face. His movements are clumsy, but she leans into his touch anyway, feels the heat of his skin against her own, savours it. He twirls a loose curl around his finger, something he's done a thousand times before, but it's so incredibly special to be able to see the look on his face now, as if he's discovering it for the first time.

“Aye, tis me. James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser. Did ye ken that?”

“Yes.”

She remembers how he had laughed at her, mixing up his middle names as she practised her vows before their very impromptu wedding. 

“Ye ne’er told me yer name, lass. Yer verra beautiful, ye ken. Did I say that already?”

“My name is Claire,” she tells him, very deliberately only offering up her first name. 

"Claire? _Sorcha._ What about the rest o’ it?”

“I doubt you would remember even if I told you," she teases him, rubbing her thumb in small circles over the back of his hand.

“Aye… my mind, tis a wee bit clouded… ye have a lovely smile, Claire. It warms my heart. Can ye feel how fast it’s beating?”

He pulls her hand to hover above where his heart lies, weakly pressing her palm to his thundering heartbeat.

“I can see it on the monitors, _commander_.”

Jamie flushes then, the tips of his ears turning a very familiar shade of red. It is reassuring to her though, feeling the beat of his heart beneath her hand; the rhythm matches her own. 

_"It proves that we are meant tae be one, Sassenach, that ye were born for me as I was born for ye,"_ he had told her then, what feels like a lifetime ago.

“Yer smart and beautiful. I dinna ken what I did tae land myself in here with ye, but I would do it again," he says now, and she lifts her hand and swats him gently on the chest for it.

“Don’t you dare! You scared me half to death today.”

“Ye were worrit about me?”

He seems so enthusiastic at the prospect that she doesn't quite want to burst his bubble. 

“I’m never not worried about you.”

She loves him, and loves that he's found a career that showcases all of his best qualities, but there's a part of her that wishes he would have chosen something a little less dangerous. Bravery is very much a part of Jamie's being, and she would never seek to change that about him, or take him away from a job he so clearly loves, even if the constant fear over his life is giving her premature grey hairs.

“Yer so caring, even though we just met. And ye’ve mended my wounds. I think I should like tae marry ye.”

She coughs, poorly concealing a bark of laughter, and thinks she would have done a spit-take had she been drinking something. Only her husband would be so foolish as to propose to her while under the effects of anaesthesia. A tiny part of her wonders if she should be offended, that he's forgotten their vows to one another so easily; the other, larger part, finds this entire situation very endearing. If she could capture it on film to present to him later on, she thinks they would both have a good laugh at it.

She does wonder though, if he would have noticed, had she been wearing her wedding band on her finger instead of on a chain around her neck, where it always resided while she was working. 

The sound of her page interrupts her thoughts, and she moves her hands from where they are joined with his, in order to silence the incessant beeping before it has a chance to drive her mad. 

“Please, dinna leave me.” 

The look of heartbreak on his face is one she's had the displeasure of seeing before. Back in the early days, before Jamie and Claire had become _Jamie and Claire_ , she had turned down his advances, not wanting to get involved with someone she might have to see on a regular basis in case things went south. She had regretted it immediately, cursing at herself for not taking a chance and slipped him her number the next time they saw one another. Hurting him is very much not a fond memory for her, so she pushes it away, and focuses on diverting the conversation back to where they had been before.

Flirting as strangers.

“You’re being awfully presumptuous since we only just met.”

“My Da told me I would ken the perfect woman fer me the moment I met her," he informs her in all seriousness, clutching her hand tightly in his own. 

“So you’ve told me," she responds, fighting a smile. He had told her, almost exactly the same statement, when he had dropped down on one knee, just six weeks after their first encounter, professing his undying love for her, as if they had known each other a lifetime.

“Will ye marry me then?”

She had said yes without deliberation, that first time when he asked her, but now she shakes her head, trying not to break at the crestfallen look on his face.

“I’ll have you know, my husband is as jealous as he is handsome," she informs him, brushing her knuckles over the line of his jaw. He perks up a little at that, tilts his head towards her, and responds with confidence.

“I would fight an army for ye, Sassenach.”

“And how would your wife feel about that?”

Perhaps it's a little cruel of her to tease him so, but he's so adorably awkward about the entire situation and she finds that she cannot help herself.

“Wife? I’m married?”

He looks both horrified and excited at the prospect, the two emotions doing battle within his mind, causing the most peculiar facial expressions. She wants to laugh at him, at the adorable confusion spreading across his features as he tries to remember. 

“Yes. I don’t think she’s the type that would appreciate her husband not being able to remember her,” she teases, brushing her thumb over his cheek. 

“Oh. What’s she like? My wife? Is she as smart and beautiful as ye are?”

Claire ducks her head then, knowing that Jamie will be able to see right through her, as drugged up as he is. The compliments are nothing new; she’s never known someone with so much capacity for love, affection and devotion as her husband, and it warms her heart to see that things are still the same, even if he can’t quite get his memories in line. 

“She loves you more than anything.”

“I guess I’m a verra lucky man then.”

The resignation in his tone makes her ache a little; 

“Oh, Jamie.”

She kisses him then, leans in close and presses their mouths together, wondering if that might help jog his memory. His tongue prods at the seam of her lips, and she moves to cup his face with both hands now, breathing him in as they kiss. When she pulls back, slowly opening her eyes, she finds him staring at her, looking very much in bliss. He’s always liked watching her when they kiss; told her before that it was the only way he could be sure she was really there, that the incredible feeling was not a dream. 

“Sassenach, I dinna think I’ve e’er tasted anythin’ sae sweet. But what about yer husband?”

She's about to respond with something witty when the door opens and Geillis pops her head in, smirking suggestively at the sight of them, all reddened lips and heavy breathing.

“Doctor Fraser, how’s yer husband doing?”

Claire doesn't look at Jamie then, but can only assume he doesn't quite have the mental capacity to piece things together quite yet.

“He’s still a little out of it, but I’m sure that will go away once the anaesthesia wears off.”

Geillis nods then, before raising her eyebrows very suggestively at them. "I havena cleared him fer any strenuous physical activity just yet, so ye might want tae keep it in yer pants," she says, before swanning off, closing the door behind her with a loud click.

“Sassenach, yer a Fraser? But how?”

“I’m married to one, you fool.”

She taps him on the nose then, laughing when the realisation dawns upon his face. His jaw goes slack, his mouth falling open so widely it’s comical; he blinks, wildly, as if that would somehow clear things up for him.

“Me? I’m yer husband? And yer my wife?”

He looks shocked more than anything, but she can see the delight too, the pure unadulterated joy at the thought of them being man and wife.

"That's usually how it works, you bloody Scot."

"That's not verra nice of ye to say."

"Coming from the man who's called me Sassenach since the day we met."

He doesn't even have the sense to look embarrassed about it all, just smiles at her like she's the sun and he hasn't seen light in years.

“How did we meet? Will ye tell me?”

The story is so often shared, by him, by her, but so rarely told to one another.

“Well, it was right here in this hospital actually.”

“Aye?”

“I was still a resident then, and I got paged to the ER to tend to, ‘some bloody hero firefighter’. You had gotten hurt on the job, popped your arm right out of its socket.”

The memory of their first encounter brings a smile to her face, and she places a hand on his shoulder, recalling the sensation of touching him for the first time. It hadn't been a bolt of lightning or a sudden shock, some incredible display from the universe to make her aware of their connection. She had run her fingers over his skin, felt warmth and heat and strength; her fingers had hovered for a moment over his pulse point, felt his erratic heartbeat and then moved to heal him. Her touch had lingered afterwards, waiting as his breathing evened out, and his heart rate returned to normal.

“And ye mended me?”

“Yes.”

She sees it, the memories slowly returning to him, the glazed over look fading from his eyes.

She feels it in the way his hands grip hers tighter. 

She hears it in his voice.

“Ye took the pain away wi’ yer gentle touch mo ghraidh,” he tells her, one hand reaching up to brush away a stray curl. She knows that he sees her now, and the life they’ve shared together, clear as day. 

“I told you to be careful,” she admonishes anyway, needing to say it, but already knowing that this man, _her_ wonderful and brilliant and very frustrating man, always puts the well-being of others before himself. 

“Aye ye did.”

“And somehow, not even a week later, you showed up again, needing stitches.”

They bask in the memories together, smiling as they both think back to that night, when she had given him a dozen stitches, sewing up a laceration on his shoulder, all while fuming at his carelessness. 

“I had tae find some excuse tae come back and see ye.”

Claire shakes her head then, once again overwhelmed with love and adoration for him. He looks up at her, almost expectantly, pouting a little, and she makes a show of rolling her eyes to the ceiling, before leaning in and pressing their lips together. She gets lost in it, the familiarity of his touch, basking in the love they have for one another, and thinks she would have climbed into his lap within the next thirty seconds, if the door to the room had not opened. That combined with an exaggerated cough, alerts her to the fact that they are no longer alone. 

Turning towards the doorway, she sees her brother-in-law first, a sleeping baby strapped to his chest, another on his back, a toddler clinging to his leg and -

"Mama!"

Claire moves from the bed then, crouching down just in time for her little girl to barrel into her, a pair of tiny arms wrapping around her neck. She stands, with more than a little effort, wondering as she does each and every day, how quickly time is passing for her baby to be so grown up already. A very bony knee digs into her back as she adjusts her daughter’s positioning, carefully smoothing over the white shirt and plaid skirt she was wearing for kindergarten.

While she's not sure who had contacted Ian or Jenny for her (she'll wager it was either Joe or Geillis), she's grateful they had the foresight to anticipate that her focus would be entirely on her husband; that she would space out and forget everything else in the world until she had confirmation that he was all right.

"Thank you for dropping her off Ian. We really appreciate it."

"Och it's nae bother. What else is family fer?" he tells her, waving his one free arm in a dismissive manner. She smiles, watching as he turns to young Kitty, who has secured herself to his leg. "We'll come back and visit yer Uncle Jamie another time, aye. Say goodbye to yer cousin and yer Auntie Claire."

Claire watches with some amusement as her niece turns in their direction, waving with little coordination, and nudges her daughter to do the same, wincing when she's thwacked in the head by an overeager arm.

_Like father, like daughter._

When the door closes once again, she turns back to Jamie, and sees the tears streaming down his face. His memory may have returned, but it's clear he still lacks all inhibition. He sobs, reaching out towards them and she cannot bring herself to make fun of him for it, feeling tender inside and out.

“Faith, my wee lassie.”

Their daughter perks up at the sound of her name being called, turning and reaching out towards her father. 

With great care, Claire settles down on the edge of the bed once more, settling Faith in her lap, and pressing a kiss to her curls, a shade that is very much the perfect mix of red and brown. Jamie's tears continue, and Faith leans forward, ever curious and in tune with the emotions of those around her, patting at his damp cheek with one tiny hand.

"Dinna weep, Da," she tells him, her voice like the soft chime of bells. 

He turns his head, kissing her palm, continuing to weep. Faith spins around, turning to Claire with a little frown on her face, seeking an explanation to this very strange situation.

“Why’s Da being all funny Mama?”

“Auntie Geillis had to give him some medicine so he would feel better, darling.”

Her mouth falls open, lips forming a small 'O' as she tries to process the information in a way most five year olds would not yet have developed the emotional maturity to. 

"Did Da get another ouchie at work?" she asks, bottom lip jutting out in a pout, clearly upset at the thought of her father being injured. 

"Dinna fash a leannan. It doesna hurt anymore, not when yer here wi' me."

Jamie reaches his arms out and Claire raises a hand to her heart, seeing the care Faith is taking with her father, not wanting to cause him any further pain.

"Were ye saving another wee cheetie?"

A year earlier, Jamie had taken an unfortunate tumble while performing a rescue that was very much stereotypical for firemen. He had wound up battered and bruised, but with no fractures or broken bones, and they had ended up with a new addition in the family.

Adso was possibly the most spoiled cat in all of Scotland.

"Nay, a chuisle. 'Twas not verra exciting. Why don't ye tell me about yer day at school? Did ye have fun wi' all yer friends?"

Faith curls up beside Jamie, resting half her body on his chest, whispering into his ear as if she were sharing the biggest secrets, and Claire watches the expression of delight on Jamie's face, reaching across to wipe away the last of his tears. He leans into her touch, seeking comfort from her, and while she hates to leave him here, she really does need to nip upstairs for just a moment. 

"I'll be right back darling," she says, kissing Jamie on the lips and then Faith on the cheek, pointedly ignoring the twin expressions of abandonment on their faces and slipping quietly from the room.

It takes only three minutes to make the very familiar journey, nodding politely to her colleagues as she passes them in the hallways. They all wish Jamie a speedy recovery, because gossip spreads faster than any disease she's ever encountered, and she’s not even surprised when she arrives at her destination and finds Louise already standing there, a sleeping Brianna on her hip. 

“I can’t thank you enough, Louise,” she says as she takes custody of her daughter, smile wavering as Brianna presses her face into the crook of her neck, fisting one tiny hand in the front of her scrubs. “I’ll probably drop her and Faith off in an hour, and come back for them when daycare closes for the night. Geillis didn’t mention whether they had decided to keep Jamie here for overnight observation, but I’d rather he stays, just in case.”

Claire thinks she might be rambling but her friend simply nods, and gives her shoulder a brief squeeze of encouragement. With that, she makes her way back downstairs to Jamie’s room; the journey takes twice as long with Bree in her arms, because she’s being stopped by every second person to compliment her daughter’s appearance. When she re-enters the room, she locks the door behind her, wanting just a little time alone with her family. 

She’s not sure who is more excited to see Brianna, who is still too sleep drunk to register the change of location. 

“My favourite lassies all together. What did I do tae deserve so much happiness?” 

She moves over to the bed, kisses him before he can start bawling again, and sets Brianna down on the other side of Jamie, smiling as she curls up against her father even while unconscious. Faith reaches for her sister, placing her small hand over Bree’s tiny fist, and Claire feels tears stinging her own eyes. 

“You’re still you, even when you’re high as a kite and flirting with a strange doctor.”

He laughs then, softly, so as to not jostle their girls, who have both entered the realm of dreams by now. 

“I kent I loved ye, even if I couldna quite remember who ye were.”

She takes his hand as he reaches for her, running her thumbs over his knuckles, tracing every hill and valley, every rise and fall. 

“Yer ne’er going tae let me live this down are ye, Sassenach? Even if I won’t remember it by tomorrow?”

“Never, my love.”


	2. the one where jamie gets stood up

**May 2011**

Jamie is unsure that he’s ever been in such an uncomfortable situation in his twenty-two years of life, sitting alone in a restaurant, picking apart a stale bread roll, and turning away the overly attentive waitress for the fourth time that evening. 

“Are ye sure ye dinna want any company? I’d be more than happy tae clock off early and serve ye, _personally_.”

Resisting the urge to crush the crusty loaf in his fist, he turns in her direction with a strained smile. 

“Thank ye lass, but I’ll be jus’ fine.”

She scoffs, levelling him with a glare, clearly having tired of being repeatedly rebuffed, and offers him a scathing parting message.

_“Yer date isnae going tae show up anyway so ye might as well leave.”_

There is no sinking realisation with her statement, because it’s the outcome he’s been anticipating; the end to the evening that he had feared was inevitable. He’d expected to be stood up, somehow, throughout this entire day, and the two before now. There are no deep-seated abandonment issues or childhood trauma causing these doubts, only his instincts and observation that led to this conclusion. He stares at the thoroughly destroyed chunk of bread on his plate, his palms dusted with crumbs, and decides that it’s time to call it a night. 

This is probably Claire’s way of letting him down easy, though he wishes she hadn’t caved and given him her number; wishes she hadn’t given him this false hope, even though he realises it’s his fault. His pursuit of her had been more than a little persistent, but he had been, _still is_ in fact, sure that she is the right woman for him. It’s difficult to accept that she doesn’t feel the same way, that she likely does not consider him worthy of her affections.

He’s been here before.

Of course, he was sixteen and a huge idiot then, and he knows now that even if Annalise had chosen him, their relationship would have lasted at most two months before she tired of him. 

With a sigh, he stands, retrieving his suit jacket and leaving behind the bouquet; the petals had begun to droop, the pollen leaving a stain on the off-white tablecloth. He turns away, heading out to pay the hefty bill incurred for the set menu that never even had a chance to leave the kitchen. He keeps his gaze trained to the ground, not wanting to make eye contact with other patrons or workers, not wanting to see the looks of pity in their eyes. It’s not embarrassment he feels at being left to sit alone in a restaurant for two hours, desperately clinging to the hope that his company for the evening would show up. 

It’s a sharp stab of disappointment, straight through his heart. 

There’s an ache in his chest and it takes all the self-control in his body to make his way back to his car with a straight face. The moment the door is closed behind him, he rests his forehead against the steering wheel, and debates heading to the pub and drinking the night away, or heading to his local twenty-four hour gym and taking his frustrations out on a punching bag. Both options spell inevitable physical pain come tomorrow morning, but his plans are quickly dashed when his phone buzzes with an incoming message. 

It’s a combination of relief and disappointment when he sees that it’s from his station manager, calling in extra personnel as back-up for an emergency. Throwing himself headfirst into work is most definitely more worthwhile than his alternative plans, but he can only imagine how mortifying it might be if he ends up a patient under _Dr. Beauchamp’s_ care once more. Seeing her again is inevitable, but seeing her _tonight_ is not something he’s mentally prepared for. 

His personal feelings on the matter are inconsequential though, and he makes his way over to the station, steeling himself for a difficult night ahead. The entire place is abuzz with activity when he pulls in, and he’s only three steps into the building when he is almost bowled over by his godfather, who regards him with a look of surprise, one bushy eyebrow significantly raised.

"I thought ye weren't workin' tonight. Did ye not say ye had plans?"

Jamie had spared the rest of the crew his reasons for requesting the evening off, which he’s thankful for now, having little desire to discuss the disastrous details. 

"Aye. Things changed,” he says, making his lack of enthusiasm clear. 

Murtagh clicks his tongue, nods in silent judgement but allows things to slide, turning his focus to the situation at hand. 

"Well ye better get yer kit on. There was an accident at the hospital that led tae an explosion. Containment crew is on site but they need all the help we can give fer rescue and recovery."

_Recovery?_

He doesn’t realise he’s responded out loud until Angus appears beside him, clapping a hand on his shoulder, none of the usual humour present in his expression. 

“Aye. We couldna send any teams inside until the blaze was contained, and those who ha’ managed tae escape said there were still staff and patients inside. Grab yer gear aye and I’ll update ye on the ride.”

Jamie can do nothing but nod and follow the instructions he’s been given, his own mind and judgement clouded by one thought, and one thought only. 

_Claire was on call today._

* * *

Seven minutes. 

That’s all it takes for him to gain control of his senses once more, leaping from the truck once they pull up in front of the hospital, which is evidently no longer on fire. The emergency room entrance is haphazardly fenced off, a portion of the lower left wing a blackened and smouldering mess, with medical personnel triaging patients and colleagues across the car park. It’s a small relief to see that there are no misshapen forms crudely covered with cloth, that the injuries sustained by most seem to be minor cuts and burns, mild smoke inhalation at the worst. 

The situation appears to be calming down, as much as a disaster like this is able to, when a familiar red-headed doctor is led out of the hospital by a crew member from a neighbouring station, covered in soot and ash, a wild look in her eyes. 

Seven seconds. 

That’s how long it takes for his world to crumble around him once more. 

"Claire, _Doctor Beauchamp,_ is still inside. She wouldna listen tae me, refused tae leave the bairn behind."

The panic builds.

“The doorway caved in due tae structural damage from the fire. There wasnae enough visibility tae confirm she was still conscious, or tae reach her safely.”

And with these words, his blood runs cold, chilling him to the bone. 

“Where is she?”

It’s not his place to speak, but he does so anyway, demands an answer despite his lack of authority. 

“Room 113, last I saw her.”

The others around him listen patiently as the doctor, whose name he now recalls is _Geillis_ , relays precise directions about how to reach Claire’s location. One of the firefighters who had pulled her from the building adds in details about the conditions inside, and Jamie watches in horror as their chief shakes his head. 

“It’s too dangerous tae send anyone in wi’out waiting fer the engineers tae come in and do a structural assessment. I’m sorry about yer colleague Doctor Duncan, but at this point there’s not much we can do but wait.”

Without a second thought, he pushes past them, past his superior officers, and runs straight into the wreckage, hearing their shouts of protest growing quieter as he moves further and further inside. Their assessment of the situation had been entirely correct; the entire place is still thick with smoke, the temperature sweltering and debris all around. The light of his headlamp does little to cut through the hazy air, and he feels his way around, one gloved hand dragging along the wall.

He’s trying to bust down a side door that’s seemingly been fused to the frame from the heat of the fire when he is grabbed none too gently by the shoulder and forced to turn around. 

“Och, ye wee gomerel. Are ye trying tae get yerself killed?”

Even with the low visibility, he can make out the less than impressed expression marring Murtagh’s features, but knows from the tone of his voice that his scolding is done out of jest and with the utmost affection. 

“I cannae say that’s my goal but it’s where I might end up if ye try and stop me.”

With that, he turns and tries the door again, ramming his shoulder up against it and feeling the metal give way slightly. 

“I promised yer mam I’d watch yer back, even when ye insist on acting like a clotheid most o’ the time. I’m a man o’ my word. Now stand aside before ye put that shoulder out o' joint again. I'll wager that the sassenach doctor ye've been mooning o'er these last two weeks willna be happy tae fix it for ye. ”

Reluctantly, he stands back, raising both hands in surrender as Murtagh wedges a crowbar into a crack in the other side of the doorway. Half a dozen or so grunts of effort and an equal number of ferocious kicks later, the door creaks slowly open, and then falls to the ground with a loud crash. The empty hallway before them looks mostly untouched by the flames, but he can make out the area where enough damage had been done to cause a collapse in the ceiling, sealing off the main entrance. 

“113, aye?”

Jamie nods and together, they turn right and head down the hall, checking every room they pass for anyone that had been missed during the initial evacuation. The place truly is deserted, silent, and he's filled with dread once more as the adrenaline begins to fade. People know to be afraid of fire, afraid of burns, but so often the damage comes afterwards, smoke inhalation causing the airways and lungs to swell, choking one to death even though they are untouched by flames themself. He feels an overwhelming sense of guilt, that she had been here, saving a child, while he was busy wallowing in self-pity over her missing their evening.

If anything has happened to her, he thinks he may never forgive himself.

Jamie is pretty sure his hands have never shaken as much as in this very moment, as he reaches out and pushes open the door to the room numbered 113. There's a little resistance, and he looks down to see that bedsheets have been wedged against the gap beneath the door in an attempt to keep the smoke out. The room is shrouded in darkness, and he looks around, scanning the area twice before his gaze lands upon a figure huddled in the corner.

He sees the mass of dark curls and then movement, and almost stumbles backwards in relief. His first instinct is to call out to her, but his throat feels impossibly dry and before he has a chance to make another sound, she's moving, pushing herself off the ground and turning towards them, a sleeping toddler on her hip, shielding her eyes with one arm. There's a laceration on her forehead that's crusted over with dried blood, a bruise slowly blooming around it, but he doesn't think she's ever looked more beautiful. Fortunately, the opportunity to embarrass himself by vocalizing his thoughts does not come, because Murtagh is pushing past him, taking one look at Claire and letting out a noise of disapproval. 

"What were ye thinkin' woman? Do ye ken how dangerous it is tae stay behind when ye've been ordered tae evacuate."

"You can mind your own bloody business," she bites back, and then the pair of them are staring one another down. 

Jamie clears his throat, and perhaps he's imagining things, but she doesn't look quite so angry when she turns to him. 

"Ye should hand the bairn over tae Murtagh, and then we need tae get out o' here."

Apparently, speaking is the trick to gaining her ire, because her eyes narrow immediately.

"I'm perfectly capable of caring for my patient."

He watches her, unsteady on her feet and with a wee cut on her head, and stands his ground.

"Yer a fine doctor, Sassenach, but right now, yer not in charge. There's verra poor visibility out there, hazards all over and ye canna keep yerself and the bairn safe all at once. Now, yer going tae let Murtagh take the wee one, or I shall pick you up and put ye over my shoulder. Do ye want me tae do that?"

The glare she gives him is vicious, but he focuses on the light dancing in her eyes, how it makes the golden orbs look like miniature versions of the sun itself, and he smiles beneath his mask as she hands the sleeping child over to his godfather, who looks less than pleased about the situation. He watches, waits for her to pull up the top of her scrubs, creating a makeshift face covering, but when he moves to guide her from the room, she tenses, shrinking away from his touch.

The crack in his heart opens up into a bottomless chasm.

He swallows, blinks back the tears and maintains control, nodding in the direction of the doorway and motioning for her to keep up with him. She's a stubborn wee thing, refusing their help even as she stumbles through the wreckage. The thought of her turning him away pains him less than imagining her hurt, and he thinks he can live with the rejection so long as she's safe and happy.

When they finally make their way out into the cold air of the night, there are no raucous applause or cheers. He sees their chief debriefing the media; doctors, nurses and paramedics caring to all those wounded before and after the incident. There are more crews arriving, possibly to assess the damage and commence clean up operations. 

A nurse approaches them, taking the little boy from Murtagh, and not a second too soon, because he barely has a chance to react as Claire's eyes flutter shut and she collapses. He can do nothing but watch in horror as she falls backwards, coming dangerously close to cracking her head open on the gravel beneath their feet. Thankfully, his godfather has quick reflexes and manages to catch her before she can cause herself any further injuries, though he does make a noise of contempt as he does so.

"Are ye sure this stubborn sassenach is the one for ye?" Murtagh asks, shaking his head as Jamie bends and lifts Claire into his arms, holding her against his chest. Unconscious, and free of the ire from earlier, she looks like a wee fairy or angel, with gravity-defying curls in place of a halo. 

"Aye, a goistidh. If she'll have me."


	3. the one with their first date

**May 2011**

There's a pounding in her head, a burning in her throat and all manner of other discomforts when Claire drifts back to consciousness. She feels lethargic, like her body is trapped in a pool of honey, her movements very much hindered.

"Ye gave us quite the scare there, hen."

She turns, with much effort, and sees Geillis standing over her, looking none the worse for wear, hair swept into a low chignon and wearing a fresh pair of bright blue scrubs. Blinking several times in an attempt to restore moisture to her eyes, she looks around the room, trying to make sense of whatever had occurred between her last memory and now. The room is familiar enough; they're somewhere within the hospital, though she's not sure which ward, and she's hooked up to an I.V. It's only a saline drip, so clearly she has not sustained too much damage. She makes an attempt to sift through her memories, to piece together exactly what happened to land her in a hospital bed, and never has she related more to the expression "thinking so hard, your head hurts".

With a low groan, she closes her eyes, blocking out some of the harsh light and runs through her recollections of the day. She had scrubbed in on two procedures before lunchtime and was completing her final rounds for the day in the afternoon. Another intern had traded shifts with her so she could have the evening free.

_She'd had plans, damn it._

Of course those plans had been blown away, no pun intended, by the blast that set their E.R. on fire. She remembers order and chaos as they scrambled to follow emergency protocols and evacuate the building, remembers stumbling out into the night, fire still blazing behind her and realizing one of her own patients was nowhere to be found. 

A little boy with big brown eyes who always crawled underneath the bed whenever there were loud noises, like thunderstorms.

Or an _explosion._

She can still feel the heat, smell the smoke, recall the exact steps she took, rushing through the building, paying no heed to the frantic calls of her colleagues and emergency responders who were helping the last of their patients outside. 

_"That hallway has already been cleared,"_ someone had shouted as she pushed past.

She remembers;

Running, straight down the hall, nose pressed to the crook of her arm, the entire place filled with smoke.

Pushing open the door, calling out for her patient and dropping to her knees when a little voice responded.

A pair of tiny arms curling around her neck as she rushed back outside with the little boy in her arms.

Watching in horror as the doorway vanished, the ceiling collapsing and blocking off her exit.

Hearing Geillis scream her name.

Seeing the glow of the fire beneath the emergency doors and realizing there was no other way out.

Turning back and hiding, sealing the door as best she could with dampened sheets she'd stripped off the hospital bed and run under water, anything to keep them safe until they could be _saved_.

The little boy, falling asleep in her arms and she, losing herself to her thoughts. 

Contemplating death, leaving this world then and there, having only just met a man she had been prepared to open herself up to, imagine a life with.

The memories end there, with her reflective thoughts and regretful ruminations. She's not quite sure how she managed to escape or who had pulled her from the wreckage, only that she was there then, and here now.

"What happened? Is Elias alright?"

Geillis settles a hand on her arm, with a soft smile that Claire takes to be a sign of reassurance. 

"The laddie is fine, he's wi' his parents now. I'm thinkin' yer havin' a wee lapse in memory. Ye refused help from the rescue crew and walked out o' the hospital herself, but then ye blacked out in the middle o' the car park. I canna blame ye for swoonin' though because that verra handsome red-heided firefighter swept ye right intae his arms and carried ye tae the ambulance tae be examined. I think the lad is sweet on ye."

The emotions come in waves;

Relief, that Elias is unharmed, that her impulsive actions weren't all for nought.

Annoyance, that she cannot recall these details for herself.

Mortification, that she had blacked out with colleagues and patients as witnesses.

A clusterfuck of just about every feeling that the human brain has the capacity to experience, knowing Jamie had been there, that he'd protected her and carried her to safety.

Annoyance, resurging, that she doesn't remember how it felt to be held by him.

Given the circumstances, she wonders if she might be forgiven for missing out on their date. She knows he wouldn't blame her for it, but thinks it might have given him enough of a glimpse into her unpredictable lifestyle that he's reconsidered his options, decided that he wants to find someone else.

"Jamie was here?" she asks, seeking confirmation that it was indeed him and not some other firefighter who happened to share the hair colour. After all, there are other redheaded men in Scotland. 

"Aye. If only ye could have seen the way the lad ran intae the building when he heard ye were still inside. 'Twas like he had no fear at all."

Geillis' smirk grows wider as she speaks, and Claire knows it's in part a response to her own reaction upon hearing of Jamie's heroics. Her cheeks feel warm, and if she had been hooked up to a cardiac monitor, an increase in heart rate would have most definitely been identified.

"Oh and if ye'd like to thank him for savin' yer arse, he's right outside."

A sharp exhale and widening of her eyes; Claire thinks there's no way Geillis could have missed out on those reactions, if the earlier ones hadn't been obvious enough. 

"He's still here?" she asks as she pushes herself up to sit, or at least making a very good attempt of it, shutting her eyes and wincing at the throbbing in her temples. 

"Aye, poor lad refused tae leave until he was sure ye were fine," Geillis informs her, before moving around; adjusting the position of the bed, fluffing up the pillow behind her head and even rearranging the sheets around her waist in an effort to help her appear presentable. 

Claire can do little but watch as Geillis steps back, giving her a once over, before heading for the door. 

"Ye might want tae tone down the heart eyes, hen. Yer being a wee bit obvious," she says, just before she leaves the room.

With that, Claire closes her eyes, mentally cursing her glass face and tries not to eavesdrop on the hushed conversation taking place out in the hallway. She hears footsteps, then the sound of the door swinging closed and senses a shadow falling over her before she opens her eyes once more and looks up.

Cranes her neck to do so.

Jamie's standing there, at her bedside, out of his gear but still in uniform, with a bag of takeaway in one hand and a potted cactus in the other. She tries to raise one brow and winces when she agitates the stitches in her forehead, having forgotten her injury. He seems to understand her unspoken question well enough, shrugging a little sheepishly and setting both the plant and food onto the tiny table by the bed.

"I did get ye flowers but…" he trails off then, scanning the room before heading to grab one of the two chairs that usually remain against the wall. It makes her smile, because if he's sitting down, he's intending to stay for longer than just a few minutes. "I had tae send Murtagh out, told him tae pick up some food and a plant o’ some sort. The wee shop in the hospital didna survive the blaze, and I suppose that the local Tesco had limited options."

He sits, folding his hands in his lap and she hesitates for a moment before reaching out towards him. His gaze drifts from her face to her extended hand, and he quickly moves to take it; he radiates heat, palms rough and calloused against her skin, and perhaps the comfort of his touch really does make things easier, allowing her to speak without reservations.

"I'm sorry I missed our date."

She smiles again, weakly this time, pursing her lips together and looking down at their hands after she speaks, instead of giving herself the freedom to be lost within his eyes.

"Dinna fash, Sassenach. The food wasnae verra good, and the company, well, the waitress kept trying tae gi' me her phone number and a keek down the front o' her shirt."

His tone is light and she can tell he's trying to alleviate her guilt, to make a joke out of this awful situation. She can't help but wonder though.

"I see. And did you…?"

Relief, bucket loads, a swimming pool full of it, as he shakes his head and tightens his grip, holding her hand so surely that she's convinced nothing could ever tear her away from his grasp.

"Nae. Told her the truth of things, ye ken? That I couldna gi' her my heart when it already belongs tae another."

She flushes then, head ducked and peering up at him through her lashes, seeing just how earnest he looks. Flowery language, poetry and declarations of adoration have never been her strong suit. It's far easier for her to demonstrate her affection through actions, and his words have her a little flustered, out of her element. Needing to buy herself a little more time to come up with an appropriate response, she raises her right hand, the free one, and tucks her hair behind her ear. Her knuckles brush up against her cheek as she does so, and she feels the blazing heat.

_Knows_ just how flushed her face must be.

"I'm not sure it was your _heart_ she was after," she tells him, choosing to deflect rather than verbally return the sentiment. 

"Yer a witty one… and verra bold," he tells her, grinning and shaking his head, copper curls bouncing with the movement.

"Hmm?"

"And bawdy too," he continues, leaning forward a little in his seat.

"Is that so?" she responds, not so much posing a question, but rather prompting him to continue.

"Aye, and foul mouthed, wi' a wicked wee tongue."

She knows _exactly_ why he's aware of her tendency to curse and swear, given the tongue lashing she had served him with the night they first met. Not only had he dislocated his shoulder, but the stubborn fool had refused to seek medical attention and tried to convince a couple of his crew to just “pop it back in”. They had overruled him of course, dragged him by the ear right into the emergency room and by then the muscles around the joint had been so swollen, she’d struggled to fix him up. Had it been any other patient, she thinks she would have been reported to her supervisor for inappropriate conduct and use of coarse language in the workplace, but Jamie had just watched her then, looking so dazed that she almost had him sent for a head CT. 

Now, he takes her prolonged silence as a sign to continue speaking. 

"Not tae mention, ye seem tae have verra poor time management skills."

She knows he’s truly teasing her now, that he doesn’t blame her for not meeting him at the restaurant, like they had planned the last time she saw him. Of course, it’s not her fault that the hospital decided to catch on fire and she hadn’t exactly meant to be trapped inside.

"All these flaws, yet you're still here."

"Well it may be quite the coincidence, but I happen tae like bold, foul-mouthed Sassenach doctors wi' a bawdy sense o' humour.” He brings her hand up to his lips then, brushes a kiss across her knuckles before slowly unfurling her fingers, nuzzling his cheek against her palm. “I did tell ye that we would have a memorable evenin' together."

“Rescuing children from a burning building wasn’t memorable enough for you?”

She brushes her thumb over the corner of his mouth, smiling when he turns his head, pressing a kiss to the centre of her palm.

“Weel, I’m sure it will make quite the story tae tell our grandchildren one day, but I was promised a date, and I dinna intend tae leave wi'out it… unless ye’ve tired o’ my company?”

The first part of his statement sends a secret thrill through her; she knows he isn’t speaking flippantly, that he truly sees a future for them, and for the first time in her life, she’s ready for this kind of commitment. 

The second makes her almost giddy in anticipation. She’s never been the type to giggle and swoon over romance, because life is far from a fairytale, but she has no doubt that if they lived in a world of knights and fairies, he would have charged in astride his noble steed to pull her from a burning tower. The dragon, well, she would have slayed the beast herself.

The third gives her a glimpse beyond his armour, for lack of a better phrase; she sees the hesitance and doubt, and knows he would turn around and leave her be, should she ask that of him. 

Just the thought of him not being part of her life makes her heart ache. 

“Never.”

He smiles then, a full-blown grin really, and kisses her knuckles, before dropping her hand and turning to the bag he had set down earlier. Utensils are pulled out, followed by two cardboard containers, one of which appears to be fairly grease stained. He hands her the one unmarked by oil without checking the contents, and she narrows her eyes in suspicion as she opens the box. 

Had her senses not been impacted by smoke, she thinks that the meal would have smelled quite pleasantly; a still-warm salad of roasted vegetables and what looks to be crumbled goats cheese and pomegranate, like ruby red gems scattered over the top. He hands her a wooden fork and then she catches a glimpse of his choice for the evening, a burger the size of her head with a side of chips. 

Never before has a piece of soggy potato looked so appealing and she tells him so, frowning when he adopts a stern expression and shakes his head. 

“I checked wi’ yer friend and she said ye should only be eatin’ healthy foods until ye’ve made a full recovery.”

She huffs, and begins to eat, keeping her gaze trained on him. They dine in relative silence, and she makes a very good effort to convince him to share his chips, but he refuses each time, telling her to finish her salad. It does not escape her notice that when they’re finished with their meals, that he still has one, very soggy chip remaining. 

It’s soaked in grease and she wants it even more now that he’s denied her. 

“Ye canna, Sassenach. ‘Tis not good for ye.”

“I’m the doctor here,” she retorts, grabbing his wrist as he raises the chip to his lips. 

“Aye, ye are. But you did bump yer head a wee bit, and I almost had tae put ye over my shoulder tae get ye to leave the building, so I dinna think that ye have all yer wits about you right now.”

“That’s not fair. Geillis says I walked out of the hospital myself.”

“Ye did, and then ye collapsed like a sack o’ grain, right intae Murtagh’s arms. Gave him a wee heart attack.”

“I don’t quite remember that part,” she tells him honestly. With a sigh, she releases his hand, looking down at her lap and sticking out her lower lip in a rather dramatic pout. There’s silence for a moment, and then a soggy chip, accompanied by greasy fingers enters her vision, and she knows she’s won this round. 

“Weel, I dinna think one bite will hurt ye all that much,” he concedes, and she leans forward and yanks the chip from between his fingers with her teeth before he has a chance to change his mind. It’s cold, fills her mouth with congealed grease and is absolutely disgusting, but the sweet taste of victory brings a smile to her face. He watches her as she chews, and then begins to tidy up, placing their now empty food containers and dirty utensils back into the bag before retrieving a couple of napkins and wiping his hands and mouth.

“Ye’ve got a wee bit o’ …” he begins, gesturing to her face. There’s a slight pause, as he moves to hand her a clean napkin, before he changes his mind. He steps closer and then sits down at the edge of the bed, reaching out and cupping her face in one hand, while gently dabbing at her mouth with the other, wiping up the remnants of their shared meal. The dirty napkins are disposed of into the same bag, and he looks as though he’s getting ready to leave. 

She’s seized by a sudden irrational panic at that thought, and when he begins to stand, she grabs his arm, not wanting their evening to end just yet. There are too many thoughts to voice, so many things she could say, but their earlier conversation is seared into her memory now. 

So she chooses to be _bold._

“Don't I get a kiss?"

His surprise is momentary, quickly replaced by pure elation, and she’s caught a little unawares when he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss just beside the bandage above her eyebrow, before leaning down and resting his forehead against hers. He holds her hands in his, interlacing their fingers and then pulling away, only to press their palms together. It’s as if they’re dancing, a slow waltz perhaps, as his thumbs map steps across her knuckles, delving into each valley and climbing every hill. 

The intimacy of such touches far exceeds anything she’s ever experienced before. 

And then he speaks, softly, his breath heating the already warm air between them. 

“When I do kiss ye, I wish tae be sure ye’ll remember it in the mornin’.”

She looks into his eyes then, drags her gaze up from where she had been focused, watching their hands move together.

They’re blue.

Just blue. 

No adjectives come to mind; she cannot draw a comparison to the sea or the sky, because in this very moment, nothing else comes close.

They sit there, for seconds, minutes or hours; time passes but she has no way to measure it, save for the steady beat of her heart. There's calm and tranquility from being near him, being so close, and she makes a rather startling realization as the recognition of these feelings brings a memory to the surface of her mind. 

She had felt it, earlier, back when she was trapped and so sure of her demise and he had burst into the room.

She had felt it, even before she managed to decipher the name stitched to his uniform, recognised the sound of his voice. 

She had felt it, for the last time, long ago, in her parent’s arms, sheltered by their warmth and love. 

_Safe._

Tears sting her eyes, but she blinks them away, choosing happiness over melancholy. 

“I ken yer the doctor, but I hope tae care fer ye the next few days, if ye’ll have me,” he says after a bit, inching closer and drawing her into his arms. 

“Don’t you have to work?” she mumbles into his shirt, taking a second to breathe him in; the smells are very muted, but there’s the slight tang of sweat, something fresh— shampoo perhaps, and the faintest whiff of aftershave. 

As much as she’s ready to take his hand and dive right into a relationship, a deep plunge into a depthless ocean, she doesn’t want to start things off by asking so much of him. 

“I may or may not have been suspended fer insubordination.”

She pauses for more than a moment, trying to process his words, and the second she does, she tries to pull away, to look him in the eye and express her shock and guilt, because it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that his punishment is in no small part due to her. He holds her in a vice-like grip though, firm enough to keep her still, but not so tightly that it causes her any further pain, and she’s very much trapped in his arms. Seeing no escape, she turns her head, pressing her face into the crook of his neck, his skin blazing against her own. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, voice muffled, and she can feel his chest shake against her as he lets out a short bark of laughter. 

“Dinna fash, ‘tis not yer fault. I can be a wee bit hot-heided when it comes tae those I care about.”

She nods, not quite believing him, but feeling reassured all the same. 

“And weel, I would do anything for ye.”

They’ve known each other less than three weeks, met only a handful of times, but for some inexplicable reason, she trusts him.

“Will you stay with me?” 

“Aye. I promise tae be the first thing ye see in the morning, and every morning after, if ye’ll have me.”

She does draw back then, tucks her arms against his chest, forcing a little distance between them. His face is blank, but she can feel his heart racing beneath her palm. 

“Yes, I’ll have you,” she whispers, before closing her eyes, leaning in and pressing her lips against his. If this is to be their first date, the one that they’ll remember years down the line, she’ll be damned if she doesn’t get at least one kiss. 

It’s soft.

Slow.

Chaste. 

But nonetheless, very sweet. 

When she finally pulls back, slowly opening her eyes, she finds that he’s watching her, staring at her so intently, as if he is afraid she will disappear if he so much as blinks. He whispers something else then, words that are completely foreign to her, but she understands the underlying message well enough. 

She _knows_ that with a little time and courage, she’ll allow herself to admit it too. 

That she’s gone and fallen in love with him.

* * *

By the time Claire is cleared to return to work, Jamie has practically moved into her apartment. 

His keys live with hers in a bowl on the kitchen bench, his work boots placed neatly in her entryway and a thermos with his station’s number printed on the side sits on her coffee table, right next to the little potted cactus that is positively thriving. He cooks and cleans and is the perfect roommate who she happens to share a bed with, and it almost scares her how easily he’s fit into her life. 

_Almost_.

When she gets home after her first shift back, he has already set the table for dinner; cloth napkins she reserved for special occasions, polished cutlery and glowing candles that she’s sure aren’t hers. He’s bustling around in the kitchen, finishing up dessert. She sees his suit jacket discarded over the back of the sofa; his tie is loosened, his sleeves are rolled up and she muses that he looks right at home there, stirring something over the stove. Dropping her bag onto the countertop, she walks up behind him, resting her cheek on his shoulder as she winds her arms around him. 

“How was yer first day back?” he asks, reaching to turn the hob off as she shakes her head against his back, pressing her fingers into his abdomen till he gets the message and turns to face her. 

“Don’t try and distract me,” she tells him firmly, moving one hand to hold him in place, forcing him to make eye contact with her. “How did the meeting go? Are you allowed to return to work? Are they going to fire you? Could they fire you? I swear I’ll go and give that chief of yours a piece of my mind if you lose your job because of me.”

Jamie laughs then, reaching out and brushing a stray curl behind her ear. His fingers linger, tracing the curve of it, getting lost in his own thoughts for a moment. 

“How about ye take a breath first, Sassenach? Before ye go and get into a wee fist fight wi’ my boss o’er nothing.”

Claire scowls at him and it only encourages his laughter. 

“I havena been fired,” he tells her, for once, entirely unable to keep a straight face. 

“You haven’t?”

“Nay.” 

“Out with it then,” she demands, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. 

“Has anyone ever told ye that yer a wee bit impatient?”

“No,” she tells him between gritted teeth. 

_“Yes,”_ she thinks. All the time, from the lab technicians when she’s asking them for an update on tests she needs to have run on her patients, to her residents and attendings when she jumps in to provide a diagnosis before they can finish posing their questions. 

“Dinna fash, mo ghraidh. I’m quite fond of ye, impatient or no’.”

She doesn’t respond then, chooses to be quiet until he caves in and spills whatever secret he’s harbouring. Annoyed silence has proven to work well on him. 

“I willna face any further disciplinary action,” he says, slowly, as if he’s choosing his words very carefully. She raises a brow, and he continues without any further prompting, giving in to her. “Ye dinna need tae look so angry, wi’ that wee frown on yer face. Ye really should smile, Sassenach, I’ve been recommended fer a promotion, ye ken?”

He lets out a squawk of surprise when she slaps his chest, none too gently, but any sounds of protest are drowned out as she pulls him in for a celebratory kiss. She hooks her arms around his neck, feels his hands press against her back, drawing her closer. They’re both smiling when they pull apart, and she brushes the tip of her nose against his. 

_Once._

_Twice._

_Three times._

“I guess I’ll be calling you Chief Fraser one of these days,” she teases, fingers gently carding through the curls at the nape of his neck. 

“I could say the same for ye, mo nighean donn.”

“Hmm?”

“Aye. In no time, ye’ll be Dr. Claire _Fraser,_ Chief of General Surgery.”

She grins, the prospect of sharing a name with him exciting her far more than she’s willing to admit. 

“Is this your way of asking me to marry you?”

“Nay, Sassenach. When I ask ye tae be mine, forever, ye’ll ken it.”

He smirks and then drops a quick kiss to her forehead, before turning his attention back towards the stove. She stays, arms around him, head resting against his chest and knows, without a doubt that when he does ask her, she’ll have only one response. 

_Yes._


	4. the one where jamie is a stay at home da

**February 2015**

When Claire told him that the hospital was planning on sending her to a medical conference, Jamie had been insistent that she attend. 

“It would be a great opportunity for yer career, would it not?” he’d asked, stirring a pot of pasta sauce he was preparing for dinner. Given their respective work schedules, weekends were the only opportunity they had to sit down for a proper meal as a family, and they always made sure to take advantage of the little time they had together. While he cooked, Claire sat opposite him at the kitchen bench, feeding their daughter. 

“Well yes, but it’s all the way in Boston, and including travel time, I’d be away for four whole days. I’m just not sure I’m ready to leave her for that long.” She’d directed the last part of her words at Faith, who had seemingly passed out mid-feed, snuggling contentedly against Claire’s breast. 

“Would it make ye feel better if I took the time off work? I ken she’s been doing fine in hospital daycare, but I could stay home wi’ her for a few days, that way we wouldna have tae worry if I get caught up in a work emergency.”

She’d looked up at him with tears swimming in her eyes, and it was clear that a decision had been made at that point. 

Two months later, she kisses them goodbye before climbing into a taxi bound for the airport, and he stands there on the front steps of their home, watching the vehicle drive away and feels a piece of his heart leaving with her. Of course, he’s then batted in the chest by one tiny fist, and he looks down to see Faith staring up at him with those same whisky eyes, and knows he’s not alone. 

“It's just you and me for the next few days, a chuishle,” he tells her, and she blinks once, before turning her head in the direction of the street, looking directly where her mother had been standing minutes earlier. 

“We’ll be just fine, won’t we Faith?” he asks her, knowing full well she cannot comprehend his words. She squeals at the sound of her name though, and when he shifts her in his arms she regards him with a gummy smile. 

“Aye, there’s the two of us now.”

* * *

By the time Claire gets back to her hotel room after the first day of the conference is over, it's almost six in the evening. She'd been invited out for dinner and drinks by most of the medical professionals she had mingled with during the day, but it had been easy enough to turn them down when she explained she had to call home and check up on her infant daughter. Part of her regrets agreeing to this trip; the medical knowledge and perspectives she's been exposed to already would surely be worth it to anyone else, but she feels an almost physical ache from missing her family. 

She's torn between calling Jamie right away or taking a shower first, and in the end, the thought of scalding hot water running down her tired body wins. It's eleven in the evening back in Scotland, and based on his routine, she knows he's probably in bed reading and will be for the next hour or two. She takes her time in the shower, letting the heat soak through to her bones and relax her muscles. Towards the end, she allows her hands to wander, her mind filled with thoughts of her husband, imagining his touch, all over her body. 

Some time later, wrapped in a fluffy hotel robe, she crawls into the king sized bed, grabbing her mobile along the way. She can't help but smile at her lockscreen background, a candid of their little family during Faith's first Christmas at Lallybroch. Jenny had insisted on putting them in matching jumpers, and while that shade of green had suited her and Faith just fine, it did unfortunately clash with Jamie's hair. Laughing to herself at the memory, she sits back against the mountain of pillows on the bed and calls him.

It does not surprise her in the slightest when he picks up after one ring, but the sound of his voice doesn’t bring her immediate relief like she had anticipated it would. The fact is, it makes her miss him even more, yearn for his touch, for his embrace. 

“Mo ghraidh, how's yer conference going? Are ye learning all about new ways tae cut people open?”

He sounds as tired as she feels, but the joy in his voice is evident. She wonders if he was sitting there in bed, just waiting for her to call, and decides that he must have been. Just last week she had told him that the conference would focus on non-invasive surgical techniques, but she is fully aware that his interest in her work is quite limited. It doesn’t stop him from asking her about her surgeries and patients though, listening to her prattle on for hours about disagreements she’ll have with other attendings on how to proceed with particular cases. She’s the same way when he describes emergency protocols and details the rescues he’s performed; she’d learned early on that he was a born storyteller, and she could listen to him talk about anything with the utmost attention. However, she doesn’t want to waste the little time they have discussing her work when one of them could pass out from exhaustion at any moment. 

“It's sweet of you to ask Jamie, but I'm sure you'd much rather hear about what I was thinking about in the shower earlier, when I slid my hand down between my-” she teases, laughing when his outraged shout interrupts her. 

“Sassenach! Ye're on loud speaker. Ye cannae say such things around the bairn. I dinna want her tae think her parents are lechers,” he admonishes, but it only makes her laugh harder. Jamie had always been a little old fashioned and most of the time, including now, it’s a source of amusement for her. 

“It's alright, she can't quite understand us yet,” she responds, even as she processes his words. If he’s worried about Faith hearing, their little one must not be asleep yet, which is a little strange considering the time, but not something she’s overly concerned over. She pauses for a moment, pulling the phone away from her ear and then hits the button to initiate a video call. Seconds later, her screen is filled, a shock of red hair and a pair of familiar blue eyes entering her vision. 

He smiles, so widely it must hurt his face, and it makes her melt a little.

“How has your day been?”

“Aye well, I had a verra pleasant day wi' one of my favourite lassies. We took a wee walk through the park, and then someone made a mess of their nappy, so she had tae have two baths today.” He pauses then, squinting at her through the screen and then frowning. “Ye look tired, mo chridhe. Are ye all right?”

Even an ocean away he can see right through her.

“I didn't understand the difficulties of separation anxiety until I realised I won't be able to hold the two of you for two more days,” she confesses, releasing a gentle sigh. He nods, turning his head off to one side for a brief moment, before refocusing his attention on her. 

“I ken. When I went back tae work after we brought her home from the hospital, I couldna do anything wi'out thinking of her. Of course, there isnae a single moment when I'm not thinking of ye.”

God, somehow the man always knew the right words to say.

“I love you,” she tells him with a soft smile. It had taken her a while at first, to say those words to him, but seeing the joy on his face the first time she whispered that she loved him, months after they were already tied to one another for life, gave her the courage to tell him each and every day. 

“And I you, mo ghraidh.” 

They lapse into silence for a moment or two, and then his eyes widen slightly, and another smile overtakes his face. 

“Just wait a minute aye,” he tells her, before setting his phone down and giving her a rather spectacular view of their bedroom ceiling. The video quality is poor enough that she can’t make out the patchwork of paint Jamie had slathered on after drilling an off-centred hole for a light fixture. She listens, hears him puttering around, and then the image is moving, a blur of motion until it settles once more. Jamie is sitting back against the headboard of their bed, holding out his phone as far as he can manage, his other hand resting over the middle of their unusually squirmy daughter, who doesn’t seem to understand what is happening. 

“There we go, a chuishle. Are ye comfortable? Now let's see yer mam.”

He tries to direct her attention to his phone, but Faith ignores him in lieu of trying to stick a pajama clad foot in her mouth. Her heart swells at the sight of her daughter, and she can’t help but call out and try and get her attention.

“Hey there lovey, how's my favourite girl? I miss you so much.”

At the sound of Claire’s voice, Faith tilts her head upwards, squealing in delight when she sees her mother’s face. Little pudgy fingers begin to reach towards the screen, a pout forming on her face when she can’t get any closer. 

“She misses ye too. Wouldna go down for a nap earlier and she willna sleep now, so she's a wee bit cranky. Aren't ye a wee bit cranky a leannan? Aye, you are.”

Claire watches as Jamie gently nudges Faith’s cheek with one finger and lets her gnaw on it without complaint. 

“Did you try walking around with her?”

“Aye, did several laps around the house, but she's a stubborn wee thing. I read her the book wi' all the farm animals and did all the noises, and I even tried tae sing her the song about the sea like ye do, but she wouldna rest. She went to sleep fine on her own last night. I dinna ken what else tae try.”

She nods as she processes his words and watches as the expression on his face changes. 

“I'm sorry, Claire.”

The change in his tone of voice, coupled with the use of her name, not some Gaelic endearment as he usually prefers, sends a jolt of pain through her. She has a need to reassure him, to remind him that everything will be fine, as he so often does for her. 

“Oh, Jamie. Sometimes babies just don't want to sleep, don't beat yourself up over this. You're a wonderful father. Do you remember when you came home from your first shift back at the station and I'd been crying because I missed you?”

He manages a weak smile at that, moving his hand to the top of Faith’s head and dangling his fingers in her vision to keep her entertained.

“Aye, I pulled ye right intae my arms and cried wi' ye.”

“I had broken down because Faith wouldn't stop crying the entire day. She'd been so good for us before, so easy, but the moment you left she started wailing and nothing I did could calm her down. But then you came home and held her, whispered to her in Gaelic, and she fell right asleep. She had always been soothed by the sound of your voice, even before she was born.”

She remembers those days fondly; Jamie curling up by her belly whenever they had a moment to spare, talking to their unborn child. Judging from the look on Jamie’s face, he’s reliving similar memories. 

“I dinna ken what I did tae deserve ye Claire, but we're both so lucky tae have ye.” He turns his attention to their daughter once more, booping her on the nose, making her eyes go wide with delight. “Isn't that right, Faith? Ye've got the best mam in the world, have ye no'?”

Faith giggles then, her whole body shaking with the force of it, though Claire suspects that has more to do with Jamie's antics than her having any understanding of his words.

"And the best _da_. Though I might have a theory as to why she can't sleep darling. I'm sure you tried your best, but we both know you can't carry a tune to save your life."

He gasps in mock affront.

"Sassenach, ye wound me."

"We said secrets, but no lies, remember?"

"I didna ken ye'd use our wedding vows against me like this when we made them," he tells her, sticking out his bottom lip in a rather dramatic pout, an expression that Faith has definitely inherited. 

"How about you set her down in her crib and I'll try singing to her?" She suggests, knowing it'll make both their lives easier if they can get the wee one to sleep. 

Not five minutes later, Faith is lying in her crib, fingers still clumsily trying to touch Claire's face through the screen as Jamie holds his phone above her. 

_“Oh! I do like to be beside the seaside! I do like to be beside the sea!”_

Slowly but surely, her eyelids begin to droop, and by the second repetition of the song, she's completely conked out.

"She's asleep, mo ghraidh. Do ye think ye could record yerself singing a few verses so I can play it for her if we run intae trouble again later?"

It really isn't a bad idea. As much as she loves her husband, she wouldn't subject her worst enemy to his singing. His tuneless melodies may be bearable for her, but it certainly isn't the case for their daughter.

"I suppose. But wouldn't you rather make the most of our _alone_ time?" she asks, letting the fabric of her robe slip, revealing a bare shoulder. 

Jamie walks straight into the wall of the hallway by their bedroom, spluttering and cursing.

"Christ woman, ye're insatiable. Did I no' already take ye four times the night before ye left? Once for each day ye'd be gone?"

She remembers it fondly, turning to him after they'd set Faith down in her crib for the night, and demanding that he mark her. His pupils had darkened almost immediately, and they had made it precisely ten steps before he'd torn off her clothing. He had taken her right there, against the wall outside their daughter's nursery, letting her bite down into his shoulder to muffle her cries of pleasure. They’d laughed silently about it afterwards; she’d bent over to grab their discarded clothing and he’d groaned, giving her _round arse_ a fond squeeze. 

It took all their self control to make it back to their bedroom. 

She’d pulled his head between her legs then, laid back and cried out at each and every sensation, before returning the favour. Left breathless and in hysterics, they’d laid there together, buck naked, and then she’d climbed astride his body, rocked her hips so slowly that it drove him mad. She’d squealed when he flipped them over, screamed when he entered her once more. They’d finished off their evening together in the shower, him hot against her back as her front was pressed to the cool tiles; she’s not ashamed to admit that these events were exactly what fueled her during her alone time under the hot spray earlier, grinning widely as she recalls her favourite part of the festivities.

“Five, if you include the morning after.”

She smirks and Jamie groans, flopping down into bed, throwing one arm over his eyes.

“I was trying tae make ye breakfast, make sure ye were full before the long flight.”

“Oh, you made sure of that, my love.”

“Sassenach!”

He’d turned off the stove, not wanting to let the omelette burn, and bent her over the kitchen counter. It was all rather unhygienic, but he’d scrubbed the entire place down afterwards with hospital grade precision. 

“I'm just teasing you. I'm far too knackered to do anything but lie here and listen to the sound of your voice.”

He shakes his head at her, angles the camera so she can catch sight of the rather obvious tent in his pajama pants, and sighs in resignation. She laughs, watching him adjust himself, and silently vows to make it up to him when she gets home.

“Ye should get some rest then. When ye wake up in the morning, you'll be one day closer tae coming home tae us.”

With that, they bid their goodbyes to one another, with her promising to call him when she wakes up the next morning. She drops her phone beside her on the bed, closes her eyes and thinks of home, imagines that she's there, that he's right beside her. 

* * *

The journey from the airport to their home takes three hours. It's a fact Claire keeps reminding herself of throughout her flight back, unable to concentrate on the novel she had brought to fill her spare time. As much as she's always loved flying, she just wants this to be over as quickly as possible so she can get home already. Had they flown into Inverness, it would only take a twenty minute drive before she was back in Jamie's arms, Faith cradled between them. 

Of course the hospital had arranged for them to fly in and out from Edinburgh, which meant an additional one hundred and fifty minutes spent on the road. 

She messages Jamie the moment she lands, sending him a photo of the rainy weather as seen from her window seat on the plane, adding a caption reading _'home, sweet home'._ He doesn't respond, and she waits for a minute before figuring that he's likely out running an errand or occupied with Faith. 

They're both at the forefront of her mind as she moves through the procedures to disembark the plane, clear customs and collect her luggage. She thinks about them, their similarities, their differences.

She pictures them.

The way their ears stick out, just a little.

The way their noses wrinkle when she touches the tip of her finger to them.

The way they smile in their sleep.

She’s so fixated on her thoughts of them as she makes her way to the taxi service that when she hears it, she thinks she must be imagining things. She could swear she hears the sounds of childlike laughter that only emanate from her daughter.

  
  
God, perhaps she was well and truly losing her mind.

Three steps more and then she comes to a sudden halt.

"Sassenach!"

She whips her head upward, so quickly she can feel her neck protest from the force of it, and sees a sight that has her heart fit to burst. 

Standing off to one side at the end of the arrivals gate, only meters away, is Jamie, and in his arms, Faith. He had dressed her up for the occasion, putting her in a mint green onesie they had purchased months earlier. She still had very little hair, but he'd managed to brush it upwards into a single tuft, securing it in place with a bow to match the rest of her outfit. 

Ignoring the looks from everyone around her, a combination of disgust directed towards Jamie's exclamation and confusion as she takes off in a run, she manages to skid to a stop just before she collides into them. Letting go of her suitcase, she allows herself to be pulled into Jamie's embrace, rejoicing at the way his arm fits so perfectly around her waist. 

“I missed ye, mo nighean donn,” he whispers, hand sliding upwards to twist an unruly curl around one finger. She offers him a watery smile and then they’re learning in towards one another, lips meeting for a gentle kiss. It’s slow, the frenzy of seeing one another again having quickly given way to the ease that has always existed between them. They savour it, the taste of one another, the familiarity of sharing a passionate yet muted embrace in a public environment. Claire allows herself to be lost in it, the sensation of feeling complete once more, the rest of the world fading away, until she’s jolted back to reality by a very insistent tug at her blouse and a series of sounds that have her heart almost stopping. 

“Mamamamamamama!”

She and Jamie spring apart, jumping away from one another. There’s a combination of shock, awe and overwhelming emotion on his face, and she’s certain the same could be said for hers as they both turn towards Faith who is squirming against Jamie’s hold, reaching for Claire. 

“Did she just…” she hears Jamie say as she pulls Faith into her own arms, a tear escaping the corner of her eye as two chubby fists take hold of her curls and tug. 

“Did you just speak, lovey?” 

Claire tries to hold Faith up between them so they can look at her face to face, but she won’t have any of it, stubbornly clinging on, unwilling to be relinquished from her mother’s hold. The three of them stand together, two adults in stunned silence and one little girl, content to bury her face against her mother’s neck. 

After a minute or several, because she’s truly lost count at this point, Jamie steps forward, gently helping Claire extricate her hair from the grip of a very insistent infant. They share a laugh once he manages to finally get her curls free, and then Jamie reaches for her suitcase before slipping an arm around her waist. He bends, dropping a kiss to the top of Faith’s head, chuckling when their little darling reaches out and pats his stubbled jaw with a tiny hand.

“I cannae believe she said her first word and I didna record it,” he sighs as they make their way towards the car park. 

“We were both there to hear it,” she offers in consolation, and he nods stiffly, sniffing back the tears. Jamie had been insistent on documenting everything in their lives together, said that it was something they could look back on when they were old and grey. They had very few photos of Faith from her first few weeks of life, and the images they did have painted a very grim image indeed, a child born too early, struggling to survive. Thankfully, she had bounced back very quickly in the days that followed and despite being small for her age, she was entirely healthy. 

“Aye, I suppose ye’re right, mo ghraidh.”

When they reach the car, Jamie stows her luggage in the boot while she climbs into the back and helps Faith into her carseat. 

“There’s my good girl,” she coos as Faith raises her arms and allows herself to be strapped in without complaint. By the time she’s done, checking that everything is secure for the three hour journey home, Jamie is sliding into the driver’s seat, craning his head to look back at them. She turns, leaning forward and giving him a quick peck, grinning when she feels him smiling against her lips. 

“It’s good tae have ye back,” he murmurs, and she brushes her nose alongside his before pulling away. 

She has every intention of slipping out of the back and making her way around to the passenger’s side, but as she moves away, she’s met with a rather high pitched wail of distress. 

“Mamamamamama.”

There’s not so much shock this time, but she catches Jamie’s look of despair at yet again another moment he’s failed to capture and she laughs, settling into the backseat and pulling the door shut. 

“I think the wee one wants ye all to herself,” Jamie grumbles, pouting, and she turns to see an identical expression on Faith’s face. 

“Like father, like daughter,” she replies, pulling her seatbelt on before scooting a little closer to Faith, fixing the little bow on her head. Jamie meets her gaze through the rear-view mirror before he pulls out of the parking spot, and she smiles, wanting nothing more than to curl up in his arms the moment they arrive home. She knows that he’s disheartened that he hadn’t managed to record Faith speaking, as he had done the first time she pushed herself upwards, rolled over and began to crawl, and hopes that it isn’t anything more serious. 

“I’m sure she’ll be calling out for her da in no time.”

She sees the way his head tilts to one side - deep in thought - and when he responds, she can see the smile on his face just from the tone of his voice. 

“Aye. We’ve got a smart lassie, just like her mam. She’ll be learning all sorts of words in no time at all.” 

When they come to a stop at the next traffic light, Claire leans forward, resting a hand on his shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"I love you," she tells him, because there's nothing else she wants him to know more in this moment.

"Tha gaol agam ort."

* * *

A month later, he returns home early after a particularly horrific day at work to find Faith playing with her favourite stuffed cow in the middle of the living room. Claire is sitting on the sofa, her phone out, presumably in the middle of recording a clip of their wee lassie to send to him, as she often did when he had back to back shifts. It gave him something to hold onto, something to help him get through the days and nights without them.

She smiles when she registers his presence and turns her phone, gesturing for him to wave at the camera, which he does with a little reluctance. If she notices, she doesn't comment on it, turning her attention to their daughter.

"Look lovey, look who's home," she says, pointing in his direction. 

He crouches, waiting patiently as Faith turns, her mouth opening and closing rapidly as she takes him in. She ditches her plushie and begins to crawl in his direction, reaching an arm out to pat his knee when she's close enough. 

"Daaaaa," she coos, and he hears Claire gasp, looks up to see that she's still filming them, her other hand clasped over her mouth. He begins to cry then, the stress of the work coupled with such a monumental occasion making him lose control of his emotions. Faith, clearly not understanding the situation but already in tune with the emotions of her parents, begins to cry as well, big fat tears rolling down her chubby cheeks as she continues to repeat that one syllable, over and over.

"Och dinna weep a leannan. Tis not yer fault yer da is being a wee daftie."

He reaches forward, picking Faith up and cradling her in his arms, his heart simultaneously melting and breaking at her little sobs. His own vision is cloudy, filled with tears that are refusing to stop, even as Faith manages to cry herself to sleep while nestled against him.

Claire eventually moves to sit beside them, curling up against him, cupping his jaw with one hand and nuzzling her cheek to his. He's not quite sure when she stopped recording, but it's one video he'll look forward to watching again and again.


	5. the one with their first bairn

**May 2014**

Strange, the things one remembers; 

The faint scent of perfume wafting from the young woman who had accompanied her father to the emergency room; lavender.

The dull sweat stains on the shirt of a man who had carried his sick neighbour down seven flights of stairs and crossed three streets to get them urgent medical attention. 

The look of sheer terror on Joe’s face as he fell to his knees beside her, barking orders left and right. 

“It’s gonna be okay, Lady Jane.”

In that moment, Claire could do little but nod, biting down on her bottom lip to keep from crying out in pain. It felt as though her entire body was being torn apart; what began as a trickle turned to a torrent and when she reached to touch the damp fabric of her scrub bottoms and found her hand covered in blood, she prayed that everything around her was but a bad dream. 

The universe wouldn’t be so cruel as to take away her child, not when its father was already gone.

* * *

When she awakens, she isn’t alone. 

The return to consciousness is slow; it begins with a single sensation, the faintest whiff of smoke, something she has grown all too familiar with in the past few years. 

Her body is numb, but she aches all over, and even half-awake and under the influence of anaesthetics, she can recall the events of the day with startling accuracy, each memory a painful reminder of the terrifying ordeal she had endured. 

She remembers feeling unusually tired when she left for work, just before dawn, brushing away the annoying twinge in her back as a consequence of a poor sleeping position. The two operations she had scheduled for the day went smoothly, despite the increasing tightness she felt in her belly. Geillis had tried to convince her to have a lay down before the next operation, but then she’d heard about a building collapse and headed to the emergency room to see where she could lend a hand. It was there she had spent another two hours on her feet, even as her friends regarded her with growing concern as if they knew something that she was not aware of. 

It dawned on her the moment she crossed paths with young Willie, and asked him where Jamie was. The lad had paled, spluttering out excuses about needing to get back to the scene and then run off. She’d turned then, scanned the room and found Murtagh talking to one of the nurses. 

Devolving further and further into hysterics with each step, she’d taken hold of his jacket, fingers digging into the coarse fabric and demanded to know the whereabouts of her husband. 

“We dinna ken. The lad isnae responding tae us.”

Everything after that moment is shrouded in a haze of pain and terror, being unable to breathe; hyperventilating. Then there'd been a searing pain in her belly before she collapsed to the ground, screaming, crying, begging for her colleagues to save her child.

She _knows,_ without knowing, that her baby is gone, no longer sheltered within her body.

The tears spill before she finds the strength to open her eyes, pooling beneath the lids and escaping from the corners, trailing down the sides of her face and onto the pillows beneath her head. She moves, reaches down and rests a hand over her belly, releasing a gut-wrenching sob when she applies gentle pressure and feels nothing but her own plushy flesh; an empty womb. 

There would be no more nudges, a foot or hand, responding to her touch. 

It is then, she feels the presence of another, a light squeeze of her hand, and she finally opens her eyes and sees;

Her husband, as she’s never witnessed before.

His face is lined, eyes bloodshot; he’s haggard, worn down and looks to have aged a decade since she saw him last, and she weeps at the sight of him, safe and sound and at her side. 

They exchange no words as he helps her sit up, regarding her so tenderly, as if she is made of glass, in danger of shattering with the flick of a single stone. He touches her with such reverence, like he's afraid he'll hurt her, when it is she that has caused them all this heartache. She watches him through watery eyes, leaning into his touch when he reaches forward and cups her face in one hand. The pad of his thumb is rough against her skin as he tries to brush away her tears; she can feel the heat radiating from him and for a fleeting moment, wonders if that heat is accompanied by fire.

By _rage_.

They had argued about it only a week ago, her insistence to keep up the extra hours at work, pushing herself to her limits and beyond. Their fights were far and few between but when they did clash, the ensuing chaos could almost be described as legendary. Jamie so rarely raised his voice, and even less frequently when directed at her, but he'd yelled then, telling her to stop trying to prove a point by ignoring her own body, begging her to put _their_ family first. 

He'd spent the next two evenings at the fire station, and by the time he returned home on the third morning, they'd missed one another so much that their argument had become no more than a petty squabble in their memories.

If only she'd listened to him.

"It's not yer fault, mo ghraidh," his voice, soft and gentle, cuts through her thoughts and she shakes her head, dislodging his hand. 

"I should have listened to you, to take it easy, to not push myself so hard. I was already cramping when I started my shift this morning and now…"

She can't bring herself to say it, not out loud. 

"Claire, mo nighean donn, please dinna weep. The sight of ye in tears breaks my heart."

He shifts closer, sitting down at the edge of her hospital bed, resting his hands on her shoulders, leaning his forehead against hers. She closes her eyes for a moment, feels as his hands drift until she's wrapped in a gentle embrace. Comfort isn't something she deserves, not after her foolish mistakes that cost them so greatly, but she allows herself to be held, to feel something other than anguish for a split-second. She turns her head, nuzzling at his neck, whispering against his skin.

"How can you be so calm after all that's happened today? Jamie... you could have died."

She feels the low rumble in his chest as he speaks, and the vibrations are almost soothing.

"Aye, and so could ye. But we're both alive, and whole, and we can heal, together."

_Together._

_The two of them._

She imagines it, heading home and packing up the nursery together, putting away all the things they had already purchased, returning to work afterwards and the looks of sympathy she would undoubtedly be offered by her colleagues. 

It makes her feel hollow, like an empty void, nothing but darkness in the road that lies ahead.

Subconsciously, she burrows further into Jamie's hold, just needing to know she isn't alone, and reaches up to rest her hand over his heart. She breathes in and out, feeling to their pulses, in rhythm as always. 

It's then she realises how rigid he is, unmoving, like marble beneath her fingertips, and hears the sharp intake of breath before he pulls away. She waits, patiently, as he takes both her hands in his, cradling them; she's always marvelled at his large palms, longer fingers and his ability to make her feel tiny in comparison. Before her thoughts can drift any further, he clears his throat, voice cracking as he speaks.

"If anyone's tae blame, it should be me."

She feels it, a single tear, hitting the back of her hand before running down and pooling within their grasp.

"Jamie…"

"Geillis told me herself. Ye collapsed right after ye heard I was missin’. I shouldna have gone back intae the building wi'out telling my crew. I shouldna have made ye worry over me so, tae put ye under stress."

She can sense the genuine guilt in not only his voice but his every action, in the way he looks at her as though he's committed the greatest sin, in the way he holds her, as though he's so afraid to hurt her. His words sound so foolish to her ears; how could any of this have been his fault? She was the one carrying the baby and she couldn't even keep their child safe before it was ready to come into this world. Perhaps… perhaps it's meant to be, a sign that she is ill-equipped to be anyone's mother, just as she had feared since the very beginning. 

"Even if you hadn't, nothing you could have done could have prevented this," she tells him, surprising even herself with the determination in her voice. Jamie tilts his head to one side then, blinking back his tears and staring her in the eyes.

"Then why do ye no' think the same of yerself, Claire? Ye're a doctor, ye ken that wha' happened couldna have been prevented."

Of course she hears the truth in his words, but it's so much easier to blame herself.

"If I had listened to you and just taken some time off, put my feet up…"

She finds herself cut off as he straightens up, squaring his shoulders and speaking with more emotion than she's heard from him before. 

He's angry.

Anguished.

_Petrified._

"Aye and then what? I'd come home tae find ye bleedin' out on our bedroom floor? If ye hadna been so stubborn and insisted on coming tae work, ye might be dead now. And I…"

He begins to sob then, the force of it shaking the bed, and she draws him to her, tangling her fingers in his hair as he slumps forward, burying his head against her shoulder and soaking the fabric of her hospital gown with his sorrow.

"Oh, Jamie."

She holds him there, humming a tuneless melody, carding her fingers through his damp curls, bringing him comfort until his tears subside. There's no real way to keep track of how much time passes, but she feels his arms slide around her once more, and then the damp kiss pressed to the underside of her jaw before he slowly draws back.

"I am so grateful to hold ye in my arms Sassenach, do ye ken that?"

"I know."

"When I heard them o'er the radio, tellin' me I had tae get out o' there because the hospital had called, I was so scairt. And then when Murtagh told me ye had been taken intae surgery, I felt as though I would die."

She can see it, the dread in his eyes, and it gives her the strength to admit her own.

"I'm so scared, Jamie…"

"I wish I had been there, tae hold yer hand through it all. Ye shouldna have been alone."

"I had Geillis, and Joe…" she tries to object, trailing off at the end. 

"Ye ken it's no' the same thing. Christ what must they all think o' me, irresponsible enough tae no' be by yer side."

She shakes her head slightly in response, trailing the back of her hand across his jaw.

"You saved so many lives today. You're a hero."

The truth is, she has no idea how many survived because of her husband's bravery, but she knows him, and she knows of his tendency to rush headfirst into danger so long as there's an innocent life to be saved.

A bloody, stubborn, block-headed hero, but she cannot fault him for it.

He leans closer, brushing the tip of his nose against hers, so close that she can feel the dance of his lashes across her skin as he blinks.

"And did ye no' perform a life-savin' surgery yerself? Two, in fact?"

"But at what cost?"

"Ye cannae think like that, Claire. We must have faith."

For one reason or another, the look of determination on his face has her breaking down once more. It hurts to cry, her throat already raw, the force of her sobs tugging at her stitches, but nothing compares to the emotional ache, the emptiness within her. 

_Agony._

There's not much she can recall from the surgery, but she remembers seeing her lifeless infant being snatched away, and then being put under as the surgeons worked to stem the bleeding and save her own life. She doesn't want to think of what might come next, if they'll bring her child back and let them spend just one moment together as a family. 

Whatever their sins, they deserve to hold their baby, just once, before they're forced to say goodbye forever.

When Jamie tightens his hold on her once more, gentle enough as to not physically hurt her, it becomes even more apparent. She can tuck herself against his side now, chest to chest as they cling to one another; their child no longer cocooned between them and it breaks her once more. 

A wave of exhaustion washes over her, and she sags into his arms, body trembling. 

"Please rest, mo nighean donn. Ye've been through so much today, and I cannae watch ye suffer so. For the sake of the love ye bear for me, will ye close yer eyes and get a wee bit o' sleep?"

She finds herself nodding, so tired that she doesn't have the strength to object as he helps her lie back against the pillows, tucking her beneath the sheets. 

"I love you, James Fraser," she murmurs, staring into the depth of his blue eyes as he leans down to kiss her. It's a gentle peck, but her lips tingle all the same, as with every kiss they've shared, and for the first time today, she manages the barest of smiles.

"And I you, my beautiful wife."

* * *

While Claire sleeps, Jamie prays. 

He holds her hand in his, careful not to disturb her nor the wires and tubes connecting her to the machines he still has yet to learn the functions for, and hopes that they can survive this, _together_. 

Not thirty minutes later, there's a quiet knock at the door, and a doctor makes her way inside, a small stack of files in one hand. She looks from him to Claire and back to him and Jamie stands, straightening out his spine with a satisfying pop, before turning his attention to the doctor.

"I just got her tae take a wee nap. I dinna wish tae wake her, but if ye have news fer us, doctor…"

He watches as the older woman nods, and as gently as possible, he sits down beside Claire and nudges her awake. She blinks blearily at him, eyes unfocused as he helps her sit up once more, leaning against his side. When she registers the doctor's presence at the foot of the bed, she gasps sharply, tightening her hold on his hand.

"We had a bit of a scare right after she was delivered, but she is stable right now. She will need to remain in the NICU until her lungs are fully developed, but I am quite optimistic."

Jamie thought he'd known relief, upon bursting through the hospital doors and learning Claire had made it out of surgery unscathed.

But now…

God, it feels as though he could leap off the roof of a tall building and still land on his feet, though he's certain Claire would have a thing or two to say about that. 

He cannot contain himself as he rushes forward, almost sweeping the good doctor off her feet in a bear hug, apologising profusely for his impulsive actions and then setting her back to the ground.

"Do not worry, young man. I am quite used to it," he hears the doctor say, but he's focused solely on his wife now, seeing the smile on her face. 

He's at her side once more in three long strides, pulling her into a deep kiss, their tears mingling as they consume one another. They're breathless when they pull apart, and Christ, his face is beginning to hurt from all the smiling, but he's never been quite so happy in his entire life. 

"Did you hear what Doctor Hildegard said, Jamie?" Claire asks him, cupping his face between her hands. " _She's_ in the NICU and stable."

"She? We've a wee lass?"

Son or daughter, it had never mattered to them, and they'd chosen to not learn the sex of the bairn, though he'd been convinced their wee'un was a lad, whilst Claire assured him she was carrying a girl.

"A little girl," she whispers, before the waterworks begin anew.

"Ye were right then, mo ghraidh. A wee lassie, as beautiful as her mam."

"As stubborn as her da, insisting on being born so early."

He chokes back a laugh, surging forward to kiss her once more.

"She just couldna wait tae meet us," he whispers against Claire's lips, and they breathe one another in, clinging tightly and unwilling to let go.

"I woulda thought that ye'd be eager tae meet the wee'un too, but I see yer tae busy shovin' yer tongues down each other's throats." 

They spring apart at the sound of Geillis' voice, and Jamie finds himself flushing as he turns his attention towards the doorway where she stands, looking bemused as usual. Claire, who doesn't appear to be the least bit embarrassed, tugs him closer and gives him one more kiss, before looking between the both of them expectantly.

"I ken ye want nothin' more than tae race down to the NICU and see the bairn wi' yer own eyes, but had ye listened tae Doctor Hildegard before the two of ye began swappin' spit, Claire shouldna be gettin' out o' bed fer another few hours at the verra least."

Jamie can feel Claire visibly deflating beside him, and he wraps an arm around her shoulders, fingers stroking her arm in a comforting gesture. They'd waited nearly seven months, they could stand to wait a few more hours.

"Jamie, maybe you could go- " she begins, but he shakes his head, squeezing her arm in reassurance. 

"Nay Sassenach, I want our wee'un tae meet the two of us, together."

"I don't want her to be alone for the next few hours," she whispers, tears filling her eyes once more, and he has half a mind to give in to her wishes, before Geillis clears her throat. 

"Joe and I had a feelin' ye would argue o'er this, so he's in the NICU right now wi' the lass, and I'm video callin' wi' him as we speak," she says, gesturing to the phone in her hand. "Are ye ready tae see yer daughter then?"

He can barely get another word out, just nodding dumbly as he reaches out with a shaking hand to accept the device from Geillis. Claire is trembling in his hold, a unique blend of terror and anticipation coursing through his veins at the thought of seeing his own child, for the first time.

With a deep breath, he turns the phone over, holding it so he and Claire can both get a good look at the screen, and the sight warms his heart.

_Baby Girl Fraser_ reads a sign by the incubator, and then he sees her, their wee miracle. Impossibly tiny but perfect all the same, skin a rosy pink, shades darker than the knitted hat they've fitted over her head, and flailing slowly in sleep. The colour of her eyes and hair remain a mystery for now, but he has a feeling that he'd been right earlier, saying she was as beautiful as her mam. 

Ten fingers, ten toes.

Ears sticking out just a wee bit.

Covered in wires and tubes.

Christ, he's cried more today than he has his entire life, and he can do little but let the tears fall, without a free hand to wipe them away. He can hear Joe talking about his daughter's condition, but it's all nonsense to him. Claire on the other hand, is nodding along with a wide smile, and he can only assume that it means the lass is doing well.

It shouldn't have been like this, seeing their bairn for the first time through a video, but it's more than enough for now, to tide them over until they can go and see her, hold her and tell her just how much they love her.

"I could watch her forever," he murmurs, after the call has ended and Geillis has retreated, leaving them in solitude once more. 

Claire nods slowly against his shoulder and then pulls back in alarm, mouth falling open in a manner that almost has him pushing the button to summon a nurse or doctor.

"What is it mo nighean donn? Are ye achin'?"

She shakes her head, reaching for him and running her hand fingers over the back of his neck, the motion soothing his battered nerves.

"We haven't given her a name yet."

Och, she was right.

They'd discussed it, at length, both wanting to honour their respective parents in their future children, but had never truly settled on anything. At first, it had been too early to start deciding such things and then later on, they'd expected to have at least another two or three months until the time came. Of course their daughter was a Fraser through and through, as stubborn as they came, and they couldn't let people keep referring to her as _baby girl Fraser._

"Do ye have anythin' in mind, Sassenach?" he asks, finger toying idly with a stray curl by her ear. His question is moot; he sees it in her eyes that she's already come to a decision, and Christ, at this point he'd let her name the lass Buttercup if it would make her happy.

"What you said earlier, about how we must have _faith_."

"Aye?"

"What do you think?"

He furrows his brows in confusion, not quite following her train of thought, and she laughs, giving him a wee kiss on the nose and gently patting his cheek.

"For her name, darling. _Faith_. I know it's not what we've discussed and that we both wanted to name our firstborn for your father, but in light of the circumstances..." she trails off then, looking more and more unsure of herself with each passing moment, and he leans in, capturing her lips with his own.

"I think that's a grand idea, mo ghraidh," he tells her afterwards, feeling his heart swell at the glimmer in her eyes, light and not tears for the first time today.

"Faith Fraser," she whispers, looking almost giddy with delight.

"Faith Elizabeth Beauchamp Fraser," he corrects her, tracing the line of her jaw with a finger.

"Does she really need so many names?"

"Och, she’ll have one less than I do!"

"I think her future spouse, should she choose to be married one day, would appreciate not having to learn to recite so many names as I did with you," she responds with a grin.

"She's not e'en a day old and yer speakin' o' givin' her away? Sassenach, I beg ye, have mercy on me."

Claire giggles, and it's a delight to hear her spirits so lifted now.

"She'll be so loved," she says with a wide smile, and he nods eagerly, knowing that they'll both sacrifice anything to keep her safe, do whatever it takes to bring her up in a home filled with joy and happiness.

Today, is the day their lives have been changed forever. 

Christ, they'd known it since the moment they'd learned of her existence, but she's _here_ now, just a lift's ride away, and soon, she'll be in their arms, experiencing the first of many _firsts_ with them.

"Aye, there's the three of us now."


	6. the one with their first christmas

**2011**

Claire makes the realisation that Jamie is a man who takes celebrations _very_ seriously, when she comes home to a candlelit dinner one night, shortly after their very impromptu wedding. Weary after a day of assisting in the operating room, back-to-back shifts and not quite enough sleep, she can't quite figure out what the occasion is until he pulls her into his arms and whispers _Happy Anniversary_ into her ear.

"Has it really only been a month?" she murmurs, sinking into his embrace, feeling the tension seeping from her body just from his touch.

"Weel, a month since ye became mine, _Doctor Fraser_ ," he whispers, running his nose against the shell of her ear. "And six more weeks on top o' that since I gave my heart tae ye." 

Claire resists the urge to pinch herself, because if this is all a dream, it's not one she wants to awaken from, ever. She does however, give Jamie a gentle shove when he begins to trail kisses down her neck, grumbling that she needs to take a shower before he can have his way with her.

"Go and get yerself clean, mo ghràidh. I'll finish up wi' dinner, and then…" he trails off, grinning wickedly.

"And then?" she asks, suddenly breathless.

"Time fer dessert."

* * *

Their next anniversary goes far less smoothly after she tries to surprise him for the occasion.

She nails the _surprise_ part.

After spending her entire day off in the kitchen, improvising (sans-recipe) trying to assemble something vaguely edible, or at least not so disastrous that it might send her husband to the emergency room, she mistakenly causes a small explosion in the oven.

The chicken catches fire, as do her dish towels, but she manages to stop the flames before the spread. Her kitchen is left worse for wear though, and she sinks to the ground, head in her hands as the smoke alarm goes off, wondering how on earth she'll have the flat cleaned up before Jamie gets home. What she doesn't count on is a well-meaning neighbour ringing the fire department on her behalf, because not ten minutes later, the front door is thrown open.

"Claire!"

She didn't often have a chance to see her husband all geared up, not unless he'd gotten himself injured at work (a circumstance she would rather avoid), and she understands why men and women swoon at the sight of him. 

"I'm fine," she calls back to him, standing and running into his arms. He pulls back, gently assessing her for injuries, and once satisfied that she truly is unharmed, bursts into an uncontrollable bout of laughter. She shakes her head and joins him, the hilarity of the entire situation finally settling in.

"The lads will ne'er let me live this one down," he says after he's recovered. 

"I'm sorry," she tells him, but they're both smiling, not quite fussed that their kitchen looks like a post-apocalyptic warzone.

"How about ye leave the cooking tae me next time?" he suggests, cupping her face with one gloved hand. 

"I knew I married you for a reason," she sing-songs, giving him a long hard kiss before he leaves to finish off the rest of his shift. 

By the time he returns home, she's managed to clear up most of the mess, leaving every single window in their flat open to air out the smoke. 

"It's still a little smoky I'm afraid," she tells him, gratefully accepting the bags of takeaway he'd picked up for their dinner after leaving work.

"Dinna fash, mo nighean donn. The smell doesna bother me."

He repeats the same words not long after, pinning her to their mattress despite her protests that she's still sweaty from having almost burned down their kitchen.

* * *

For two individuals who had very much enjoyed a solitary lifestyle before finding one another, married life comes surprisingly easy to them. They'll often go a day or two without seeing one another, schedules always changing, but the time they do spend together is very precious.

Her twenty-eighth birthday falls shortly after their fourth-month wedding anniversary, and they both manage to take a weekend off work. Jamie's hopes for a romantic getaway quickly fall through when he comes home on Friday night with a very high fever.

Instead of spending their days off at a wee cabin in the mountains, Jamie remains mostly passed out in bed while Claire tends to him. She diagnoses him with a very bad cold, and bustles around making sure he's taking his medicine and drinking enough water to stay hydrated. 

Not wanting a repeat of the anniversary incident, she rings her sister-in-law and asks if the woman can give her step-by-step instructions on how to prepare Jamie's preferred comfort foods. Jenny, who had warmed up to her quite a bit since their rocky first meeting, goes much further than that and sends Ian over with enough food to feed a family of four for an entire week. 

And so Claire diligently reheats soup and spoon-feeds her ailing husband, who is too out of it to protest being coddled. It's the longest amount of time they've spent together since their first date, when he'd inadvertently ended up moving in with her. She cherishes these moments, sitting in bed and reading on her phone, his head in her lap, her fingers gently carding through his curls. 

Sure, they're surrounded by a mountain of used tissues and Jamie has sneezed and coughed on her more times than she cares to remember, but she finds she doesn’t mind it one bit.

_In sickness and in health_ , they'd vowed to one another.

And when Jamie turns to her with a sleepy smile, haphazardly throwing one arm around her waist, trying to draw her closer, she curls right up to him.

"I love ye, Sassenach," he mumbles, before promptly falling right back asleep.

* * *

By early December, it becomes apparent that she and Jamie have very different views on how the holiday season should be spent. The truth is, she'd lost her parents so early on that she has no memories of hanging stockings by the fire, stringing lights around a tree or opening up presents on Christmas day. 

Jamie on the other hand still observes his boyhood holiday traditions, and those she doesn't quite understand them all, she allows him to drag her around the farm, searching for the perfect tree. 

They settle for one both small enough to fit inside their car and their flat, and dress it up with tinsel and baubles and colour-changing fairy-lights. Jamie sets a star on top, one he'd crafted himself as a child, and they sit back, admiring their little tree.

"Weel, it'll have tae do fer now," he says, draping an arm around her shoulders.

"For now?"

"Aye Sassenach. 'Tis a fine wee tree, but there were barely enough branches for ye and I tae decorate. We'll need a bigger tree eventually, so the bairns willna fight o'er who gets tae hang the ornaments."

She burrows into his side, resting her head upon his shoulder, arm slung across his middle and fingers curling into his terrible Christmas jumper. They'd discussed this early on, before the wedding even. He wanted children, as many as she was willing to give him. It was something they were both firmly on the same page about. But they weren't quite prepared just yet, not with their respective careers and still slowly learning one another. A definitive date had never been set, but they'd promised to wait until they were both ready for it.

And she knows she isn't.

"Not yet though," she tells him, closing her eyes and simply enjoying being in his arms. 

Just the two of them.

"Not yet," he agrees, hand moving in slow circles over her shoulder.

* * *

They both have shifts on Christmas Day. 

It's the price they have to pay to spend Hogmanay up at Lallybroch with the entire family, and Claire really doesn't mind it so much, but she knows that Jamie is disappointed. 

"I thought we'd get tae open presents together at least," he'd told her, a small pout forming on his face.

"We'll have plenty of chances for that in the future," she had reassured him, all the while thinking about how she might make his Christmas wishes come true. 

It turns out that it's really not so difficult.

A phone call here and a favour there and she manages to clock off half-an-hour earlier, giving her just enough time to head home and change before driving to the station to surprise Jamie. 

They’ve decorated for the holidays. Well, decorated, is putting it lightly. It looks as though Father Christmas himself has decked the halls, the festive spirit having very much taken over the entire place. 

Claire waves hello to several familiar faces as she makes her way through, ignoring the shit-eating grins on their faces as they all point her upstairs to where the bunks are located. She doesn’t manage to surprise Jamie so much as run headfirst into him as he turns a corner without looking. 

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!”

“Sassenach?!”

She barely has a chance to react before she’s being swept into his arms, twirled around like the leading lady in a romantic comedy, and she cannot help but laugh at his antics. 

“I cannae believe ye’re here,” he says, gently setting her down and capturing her lips with his. She melts into it, arms winding around his neck as his hands span her back, insistently pressing forward, paying little mind to their surroundings. When they pull apart, they’re both a little flushed and breathless, giggling like children. 

“I don’t want to distract you from your work, but I thought it would be nice for us to actually see one another on Christmas Day,” she tells him as he leads them over to his bunk. “I know we said no presents but...” she trails off as he reaches over, fingering a button on her heavy winter coat, one brow raised. 

“I dinna think whatever gift ye have planned is appropriate fer the workplace, mo ghràidh,” he teases, ducking easily when she tries to swat him over the head. 

“Don’t you worry, lad. You can take all the time you need unwrapping me when we’re at home. But that’s not quite what I meant.”

“Is it no’?”

She shakes her head, cupping his jaw in one hand, feeling the smooth skin and yearning for the familiar roughness of his stubble. 

“There’s something I wanted to tell you,” she says, trying to stay calm as she sees the panic in his eyes. Not quite able to find the words just yet but wanting to reassure him all the same, she leans forward, brushing her lips against his, pressing their foreheads together and bumping his nose with her own. “It’s nothing bad I promise,” she whispers. 

They sit in relative silence for a bit, her fingers tracing nonsensical patterns over his palms, as she tries to muster up the courage to tell him something so simple, yet monumental. Not wanting their moment to be interrupted by sirens and alarms, she takes a deep breath and comes right out with it. 

“I love you.”

Her husband, usually a man of many, _many_ , words, sits there like a stunned mullet, just staring at her, blinking, almost disbelieving. 

“Did you hear me?” she asks, nudging his knee. 

“Aye, I did, Sassenach. But do ye think… could ye say it again, maybe?”

She laughs, shaking her head and then lunging forward, throwing her arms around his neck. 

“I love you, you idiot.”

He returns her embrace with fervour, holding her tightly against him. 

“Tis the best Christmas gift I’ve e’er received, mo ghràidh.”

* * *

He changes his mind two years later when she presents him with a wee stocking to hang between their own on the mantle. 

**Author's Note:**

> Much appreciation to everyone who has taken the time to read this story. If you enjoyed, please let me know by leaving a kudos or a comment :)


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